dismissed me with those good words, and I know her promise will
be kept. They will delay her all they can–those animals–bu she
will not fail in the end.”
“Would she were King!” said the other knight, fervently. “For there
is little hope that the King himself can be stirred out of his
lethargy. He is wholly without hope, and is only thinking of
throwing away everything and flying to some foreign land. The
commissioners say there is a spell upon him that makes him
hopeless–yes, and that it is shut up in a mystery which they cannot
fathom.”
“I know the mystery,” said Joan, with quiet confidence; “I know it,
and he knows it, but no other but God. When I see him I will tell
him a secret that will drive away his trouble, then he will hold up
his head again.”
I was miserable with curiosity to know what it was that she would
tell him, but she did not say, and I did not expect she would. She
was but a child, it is true; but she was not a chatterer to tell great
matters and make herself important to little people; no, she was
reserved, and kept things to herself, as the truly great always do.
The next day Queen Yolande got one victory over the King’s
keepers, for, in spite of their protestations and obstructions, she
procured an audience for our two knights, and they made the most
they could out of their opportunity. They told the King what a
spotless and beautiful character Joan was, and how great and noble
a spirit animated her, and they implored him to trust in her, believe
in her, and have faith that she was sent to save France. They
begged him to consent to see her. He was strongly moved to do
this, and promised that he would not drop the matter out of his
mind, but would consult with his council about it. This began to
look encouraging. Two hours later there was a great stir below,
and the innkeeper came flying up to say a commission of
illustrious ecclesiastics was come from the King–from the King
his very self, understand!–think of this vast honor to his humble
little hostelry!–and he was so overcome with the glory of it that he
could hardly find breath enough in his excited body to put the facts
into words. They were come from the King to speak with the Maid
of Vaucouleurs. Then he flew downstairs, and presently appeared
again, backing into the room, and bowing to the ground with every
step, in front of four imposing and austere bishops and their train
of servants.
Joan rose, and we all stood. The bishops took seats, and for a while
no word was said, for it was their prerogative to speak first, and
they were so astonished to see what a child it was that was making
such a noise in the world and degrading personages of their dignity
to the base function of ambassadors to her in her plebeian tavern,
that they could not find any words to say at first. Then presently
their spokesman told Joan they were aware that she had a message
for the King, wherefore she was now commanded to put it into
words, briefly and without waste of time or embroideries of
speech.
As for me, I could hardly contain my joy–our message was to
reach the King at last! And there was the same joy and pride and
exultation in the faces of our knights, too, and in those of Joan’s
brothers. And I knew that they were all praying–asI was–that the
awe which we felt in the presence of these great dignitaries, and
which would have tied our tongues and locked our jaws, would not
affect her in the like degree, but that she would be enabled to word
her message well, and with little stumbling, and so make a
favorable impression here, where it would be so valuable and so
important.
Ah, dear, how little we were expecting what happened then! We
were aghast to hear her say what she said. She was standing in a
reverent attitude, with her head down and her hands clasped in